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James Potter stands in the Gryffindor Common Room, a little in awe but mostly smug about it all.
The Hat barely settled on the top of his head before it had shouted, 'Gryffindor!'
Oh, yes. He's a Gryffindor, just like he knew he'd be.
"I'm glad I'm in Gryffindor too," says Peter beside him, even though he's looking rather awkward, like he's uncomfortable in his own skin.
James places a hand on the other boy's shoulder and grins.
"It's going to be brilliant, Pete," he says, reassuringly. "You and me in Gryffindor. Maybe we'll even let Sirius Black be friends with us."
The Hat barely settled on the top of his head before it had shouted, 'Gryffindor!'
Oh, yes. He's a Gryffindor, just like he knew he'd be.
"I'm glad I'm in Gryffindor too," says Peter beside him, even though he's looking rather awkward, like he's uncomfortable in his own skin.
James places a hand on the other boy's shoulder and grins.
"It's going to be brilliant, Pete," he says, reassuringly. "You and me in Gryffindor. Maybe we'll even let Sirius Black be friends with us."
036. 28 march 1977
Feb. 19th, 2012 09:49 pmJames has been sleeping in the Common Room for the whole night. He didn't want to see Sirius anymore, not after discovering what the fucking git did to him; and quite frankly, it hurt to move.
He shifts in the considerably uncomfortable armchair he only half-remembers settling into last night, after the fist-fight and the black-eye and the – he winces – cut lip.
He gingerly straightens, his neck and his shoulders making quiet cracking sounds, sharp pains shooting every which way in reaction.
Merlin's Fucking Beard, he feels like shit.
Not just physically, of course, but mentally too. He remembers now, just why he'd even gotten into a fight at all.
Fuck.
Lily is going to be so angry.
He shifts in the considerably uncomfortable armchair he only half-remembers settling into last night, after the fist-fight and the black-eye and the – he winces – cut lip.
He gingerly straightens, his neck and his shoulders making quiet cracking sounds, sharp pains shooting every which way in reaction.
Merlin's Fucking Beard, he feels like shit.
Not just physically, of course, but mentally too. He remembers now, just why he'd even gotten into a fight at all.
Fuck.
Lily is going to be so angry.
035. 6 november 1976. date.
Jul. 21st, 2011 09:35 pmNovember 6, 1976 — noon
Hogwarts, Scotland
Great Hall
It's a nice, brisk Saturday as far as Saturdays go. The sky is overcast with brief periods of sunshine, it's chilly enough for a nice warm fall jacket, but not cold enough for hats, mitts and scarves.
And it's a Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the year, which means any and all students from Third Year and up are brimming with excitement.
Of course, for James Potter, this Saturday means a whole lot more than just a Hogsmeade weekend trip. He's seen the shops, he's spent hours in The Three Broomsticks Inn, watching Sirius attempt to charm Madam Rosmerta and laughing when James did a much better job of it without hardly trying. All of it is nothing new.
Today is his date with Lily Evans.
After seeing his friends off, Sirius looking far more sullen than usual, assuring him that he was going to "miss a brilliant Saturday with your mates, Prongs — you're going to regret it when I come back from Hogsmeade with my pockets fat from Honeydukes sweets and jokes from Zonko's and all you get at the end of the day is boring prefect conversation, disappointment when Evans rejects your request for a second date and maybe a Sugar Quill if you're lucky", James checks himself in the mirror one last time before making his way to the Great Hall where he told Lily he'd meet her.
(He'd exhibited great self-control when he chose not to transfigure Sirius' nose into an elephant's trunk and jinx green pustules all over his cocky, arsehole face for that. Remus ought to award him at least 25 Gryffindor points.
He just gave James a sympathetic smile and allowed him to shove the stupid git out the door.)
He's dressed in his best casual clothing: a new red jumper and a pair of dark jeans, and then a black double-breasted peacoat on top and his usual (slightly worn but still in good condition) sneakers on his feet.
His attempt to tame his ever messy mop of black hair into something presentable falls through. After about five minutes of doing so in vain, he opts, instead, to make his mess look as purposefully done as possible. Then he wipes his glasses, readjusts them on his face, and heads out the door.
His hands and feet are cold, his limbs are a bit like they've been transfigured into jelly, his insides feel like they're being jostled about, and he feels bloodless, sliding down the length of the staircases and through corridors like a great, pathetic sack.
And yet, he's never felt more excited.
Nervous as hell, yes, but excited too.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Great Hall
It's a nice, brisk Saturday as far as Saturdays go. The sky is overcast with brief periods of sunshine, it's chilly enough for a nice warm fall jacket, but not cold enough for hats, mitts and scarves.
And it's a Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the year, which means any and all students from Third Year and up are brimming with excitement.
Of course, for James Potter, this Saturday means a whole lot more than just a Hogsmeade weekend trip. He's seen the shops, he's spent hours in The Three Broomsticks Inn, watching Sirius attempt to charm Madam Rosmerta and laughing when James did a much better job of it without hardly trying. All of it is nothing new.
Today is his date with Lily Evans.
After seeing his friends off, Sirius looking far more sullen than usual, assuring him that he was going to "miss a brilliant Saturday with your mates, Prongs — you're going to regret it when I come back from Hogsmeade with my pockets fat from Honeydukes sweets and jokes from Zonko's and all you get at the end of the day is boring prefect conversation, disappointment when Evans rejects your request for a second date and maybe a Sugar Quill if you're lucky", James checks himself in the mirror one last time before making his way to the Great Hall where he told Lily he'd meet her.
(He'd exhibited great self-control when he chose not to transfigure Sirius' nose into an elephant's trunk and jinx green pustules all over his cocky, arsehole face for that. Remus ought to award him at least 25 Gryffindor points.
He just gave James a sympathetic smile and allowed him to shove the stupid git out the door.)
He's dressed in his best casual clothing: a new red jumper and a pair of dark jeans, and then a black double-breasted peacoat on top and his usual (slightly worn but still in good condition) sneakers on his feet.
His attempt to tame his ever messy mop of black hair into something presentable falls through. After about five minutes of doing so in vain, he opts, instead, to make his mess look as purposefully done as possible. Then he wipes his glasses, readjusts them on his face, and heads out the door.
His hands and feet are cold, his limbs are a bit like they've been transfigured into jelly, his insides feel like they're being jostled about, and he feels bloodless, sliding down the length of the staircases and through corridors like a great, pathetic sack.
And yet, he's never felt more excited.
Nervous as hell, yes, but excited too.
034. 3 november 1976. potions.
Jul. 10th, 2011 09:44 pmNovember 3, 1976 — morning
Hogwarts, Scotland
Potions Dungeon
When James wakes up on Monday morning, his very first thought hits him in a wave of elation and complete and utter petrification.
He has a date with Lily Evans.
An actual you-and-me-will-be-going-somewhere-remotely-romantic date.
A date that may or may not include a first kiss and living out some of his finest fantasies over the past year.
A date that would actually be spent with Lily Evans.
Merlin's bloody fucking beard.
He lies in bed for about ten minutes (or twenty) too long before Remus approaches him and asks, "Are you feeling all right, James?"
James grumbles something about stomach pains.
Or maybe a concussion.
It ends with, "I'm dying."
"Did the weekend's events hit you?"
James pulls his comforter over his head and groans. "I'm afraid I can't go to class this morning, Moony. Go on without me. Leave me to ... to rot in this bed."
To James' surprise, Remus doesn't, in fact, pull the blanket away from him and drag him out of bed like Sirius might have. Under his blanket-fort (now getting a little hot and stuffy), he can hear the sound of wooden legs being dragged across the floor.
James peeks over the edge of his blanket.
Remus is sitting by his bedside, perfectly prefecty — calm expression and all.
"... what are you doing?"
Remus shrugs. "Well, if you're not going to class because you're dying, Heaven Forbid I should leave my dying friend in his final moments alone."
"But. Class," James mumbles, almost unable to keep from smiling just a little. He knows how important Remus' perfect attendance is to him, though he honestly can't understand it.
Remus shrugs again. "I'll sit by your bedside until your very last breath," he says with a certain amount of exaggerated nobleness in his voice. "And then I'll go and tell Professor Dumbledore. Someone needs to let him know that one of Hogwarts' best students has just died, after all — especially before you start decomposing in our dorm room. Sirius will never stop complaining about the smell.
"And, of course, someone'll need to tell Lily Evans about how her date died just before they could go out. I expect she'll be rather disheartened to hear it."
"Shut up," James says, but now he laughs.
*
Tuesday goes just about as well as any Tuesday could.
Every class is spent in the company of his best mates, which helps him avoid constantly stealing glances over at Lily Evans and feeling a bit ill every time because she is so brilliant and he has no idea what he is going to do about the weekend. Every idea he comes up with sounds ridiculous and stupid and completely, completely uncool.
Sirius is no help at all, which doesn't exactly make things easier. He sports an increasingly short temper — his jokes are a little more snappish, a little more biting.
By the end of dinner, having spent the duration of it as the butt of many of Sirius' quips, Peter looks embarrassed and angry and almost like he is going to cry.
James tells Sirius to shut up in a none-too-pleased tone; and looking affronted, Sirius leaves the table to go sulk somewhere.
*
By Wednesday morning, James expects he will be able to face Potions class in his usual James Potter manner.
During breakfast, Remus assures him that everything will be all right so long as he stops looking like a fire-crab has crawled up robes, and Peter gives him a quick pat on the shoulder.
When he arrives at the door of the Potions dungeon, he isn't so sure (though he's finally got an idea of what they could do on their date). He can see Lily sitting at their usual table, all of her things already out.
Merlin's beard, when the hell did he become such a — he can't even come up with anything fitting for what he's being right now, he's so ashamed and petrified.
Right.
Be cool, Potter.
Be. Fucking. Cool.
He walks into the room and takes his usual seat, glancing at Lily only when he feels like there are no other preparations left to do.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Potions Dungeon
When James wakes up on Monday morning, his very first thought hits him in a wave of elation and complete and utter petrification.
He has a date with Lily Evans.
An actual you-and-me-will-be-going-somewhere-remotely-romantic date.
A date that may or may not include a first kiss and living out some of his finest fantasies over the past year.
A date that would actually be spent with Lily Evans.
Merlin's bloody fucking beard.
He lies in bed for about ten minutes (or twenty) too long before Remus approaches him and asks, "Are you feeling all right, James?"
James grumbles something about stomach pains.
Or maybe a concussion.
It ends with, "I'm dying."
"Did the weekend's events hit you?"
James pulls his comforter over his head and groans. "I'm afraid I can't go to class this morning, Moony. Go on without me. Leave me to ... to rot in this bed."
To James' surprise, Remus doesn't, in fact, pull the blanket away from him and drag him out of bed like Sirius might have. Under his blanket-fort (now getting a little hot and stuffy), he can hear the sound of wooden legs being dragged across the floor.
James peeks over the edge of his blanket.
Remus is sitting by his bedside, perfectly prefecty — calm expression and all.
"... what are you doing?"
Remus shrugs. "Well, if you're not going to class because you're dying, Heaven Forbid I should leave my dying friend in his final moments alone."
"But. Class," James mumbles, almost unable to keep from smiling just a little. He knows how important Remus' perfect attendance is to him, though he honestly can't understand it.
Remus shrugs again. "I'll sit by your bedside until your very last breath," he says with a certain amount of exaggerated nobleness in his voice. "And then I'll go and tell Professor Dumbledore. Someone needs to let him know that one of Hogwarts' best students has just died, after all — especially before you start decomposing in our dorm room. Sirius will never stop complaining about the smell.
"And, of course, someone'll need to tell Lily Evans about how her date died just before they could go out. I expect she'll be rather disheartened to hear it."
"Shut up," James says, but now he laughs.
*
Tuesday goes just about as well as any Tuesday could.
Every class is spent in the company of his best mates, which helps him avoid constantly stealing glances over at Lily Evans and feeling a bit ill every time because she is so brilliant and he has no idea what he is going to do about the weekend. Every idea he comes up with sounds ridiculous and stupid and completely, completely uncool.
Sirius is no help at all, which doesn't exactly make things easier. He sports an increasingly short temper — his jokes are a little more snappish, a little more biting.
By the end of dinner, having spent the duration of it as the butt of many of Sirius' quips, Peter looks embarrassed and angry and almost like he is going to cry.
James tells Sirius to shut up in a none-too-pleased tone; and looking affronted, Sirius leaves the table to go sulk somewhere.
*
By Wednesday morning, James expects he will be able to face Potions class in his usual James Potter manner.
During breakfast, Remus assures him that everything will be all right so long as he stops looking like a fire-crab has crawled up robes, and Peter gives him a quick pat on the shoulder.
When he arrives at the door of the Potions dungeon, he isn't so sure (though he's finally got an idea of what they could do on their date). He can see Lily sitting at their usual table, all of her things already out.
Merlin's beard, when the hell did he become such a — he can't even come up with anything fitting for what he's being right now, he's so ashamed and petrified.
Right.
Be cool, Potter.
Be. Fucking. Cool.
He walks into the room and takes his usual seat, glancing at Lily only when he feels like there are no other preparations left to do.
033. 29 october 1976. night.
Jul. 6th, 2011 06:21 pmOctober 29, 1976 — 23:56 hrs
Hogwarts, Scotland
Boys dormitories
There's a brief second, once James enters the boys dormitories, when he actually considers not telling his best mates what had transpired tonight.
Only because a part of him is still in disbelief, and telling anyone aloud will make it untrue, or will wake him from what may or may not actually be a dream.
But that only lasts for less than a second.
When he heads into the room, he's unsurprised that none of his best friends are asleep yet.
Sirius is sitting by the window, as usual, reading a magazine. (James only briefly notes that it's one of his Quidditch periodicals; so that's where they keep disappearing off to.)
Remus is on his bed with one of his usual musty, large hardcover books.
And Peter is turning dials on his wireless radio — with no channels playing any of Celestina Warbeck's classic hits, thankfully.
"I've got a date," he announces, closing the door behind him. His expression is pure and absolute delight; it's like he'd been given three Christmases in one go.
Only Remus looks up, curious.
Sirius waves a hand to show that he heard something, but otherwise keeps his eyes to his magazine. "'Bout time," he says coolly from his perch. It's obvious this week has been about getting Sirius Black's reputation to go back to 'Sirius Fucking Black' from 'Sirikins'; the careless tone is almost a little overdone. "Who is it, then? Demelza Francis? That girl's been eying you since last year — you'd be doing the whole world a favour by getting her to stop fawning over you."
"No," James says. "It's not Demelza Francis." He's grinning, saying nothing, until Remus puts his book down with a quiet fwump against the covers and frowns.
"So, who do you have a date with, then?" is the obvious question, which is asked by Peter from his side of the room. He puts down his wireless.
"No," says Remus immediately, shaking his head. "No, you didn't."
"What?" Sirius finally looks in James' direction. "What is it?" The two of them meet eyes. His grey ones widen. "No. You're fucking kidding me."
"What?" asks Peter. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"
"Well," says James, ignoring Peter's obliviousness, "we haven't exactly decided on when yet, but — I reckon it'll probably happen the first weekend of November."
He feels silly, really silly, but the best sort of silly, like he could do something incredibly, incredibly reckless and live — without a scratch — to tell the tale.
Lily Evans is impossibly brilliant and her effect on him is clear.
Peter suddenly guffaws. "Merlin's beard, you have a date with Lily Evans, don't you? That's why you're all — and that's why Remus and Sirikins is all —"
"Oy! Don't call me that —" Sirius seethes, but Remus laughs.
James does too.
"That's right, you dim git," says James with a wide grin. He starts to pull off his red and gold jumper. "I've got a date with Lily Evans."
I've got a date with Lily Evans, he repeats in his head.
He repeats it over and over.
"You sly dog!" Sirius says. "No, wait. That's me." (Remus rolls his eyes.) "You stalwart stag! How on earth did you manage to con her into finally saying 'yes'?"
"I don't know," says James. "Honestly. I just — I was coming back from the pitch and she caught me and we talked, and it sort of just led to me embarrassingly pouring my guts out, and then she said 'yes'."
Remus smiles. "James," he says, "that's brilliant. That really, really is brilliant."
"That'd explain why you weren't back here after dinner," says Sirius.
"Well, you weren't at dinner at all," Peter adds.
"That's all right," James says. He has the warm, comforting feeling of shepherd's pie and happiness in his stomach. "I popped down to the kitchens with Lily."
Sirius blinks. "The kitchens? The Hogwarts' kitchens?"
"Yeah. What other kitchens are there?" James starts to change into his pyjamas.
"It's 'Lily' now, is it?" Remus' smile widens, cheekily.
"Well, I can't go on calling her 'Evans' now, can I? It's not — I don't know …"
"Boyfriend-like?" Peter fills in.
James finds his face heating against his will. He laughs it off with a slightly embarrassed, "Yeah, I guess." He rubs his face. "Anyway, Lily's a great name."
"It is," Remus says.
Sirius clears his throat. "Right. Well, that's brilliant you got a date — finally — with Lily Evans. But you've got a game tomorrow, don't you, mate. Captain Potter needs his beauty sleep, and I expect Gryffindor to win the game tomorrow."
"Of course," says Remus.
James grins. "Right. I suspect we'll do all right."
She said 'yes'.
He can do just about anything.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Boys dormitories
There's a brief second, once James enters the boys dormitories, when he actually considers not telling his best mates what had transpired tonight.
Only because a part of him is still in disbelief, and telling anyone aloud will make it untrue, or will wake him from what may or may not actually be a dream.
But that only lasts for less than a second.
When he heads into the room, he's unsurprised that none of his best friends are asleep yet.
Sirius is sitting by the window, as usual, reading a magazine. (James only briefly notes that it's one of his Quidditch periodicals; so that's where they keep disappearing off to.)
Remus is on his bed with one of his usual musty, large hardcover books.
And Peter is turning dials on his wireless radio — with no channels playing any of Celestina Warbeck's classic hits, thankfully.
"I've got a date," he announces, closing the door behind him. His expression is pure and absolute delight; it's like he'd been given three Christmases in one go.
Only Remus looks up, curious.
Sirius waves a hand to show that he heard something, but otherwise keeps his eyes to his magazine. "'Bout time," he says coolly from his perch. It's obvious this week has been about getting Sirius Black's reputation to go back to 'Sirius Fucking Black' from 'Sirikins'; the careless tone is almost a little overdone. "Who is it, then? Demelza Francis? That girl's been eying you since last year — you'd be doing the whole world a favour by getting her to stop fawning over you."
"No," James says. "It's not Demelza Francis." He's grinning, saying nothing, until Remus puts his book down with a quiet fwump against the covers and frowns.
"So, who do you have a date with, then?" is the obvious question, which is asked by Peter from his side of the room. He puts down his wireless.
"No," says Remus immediately, shaking his head. "No, you didn't."
"What?" Sirius finally looks in James' direction. "What is it?" The two of them meet eyes. His grey ones widen. "No. You're fucking kidding me."
"What?" asks Peter. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"
"Well," says James, ignoring Peter's obliviousness, "we haven't exactly decided on when yet, but — I reckon it'll probably happen the first weekend of November."
He feels silly, really silly, but the best sort of silly, like he could do something incredibly, incredibly reckless and live — without a scratch — to tell the tale.
Lily Evans is impossibly brilliant and her effect on him is clear.
Peter suddenly guffaws. "Merlin's beard, you have a date with Lily Evans, don't you? That's why you're all — and that's why Remus and Sirikins is all —"
"Oy! Don't call me that —" Sirius seethes, but Remus laughs.
James does too.
"That's right, you dim git," says James with a wide grin. He starts to pull off his red and gold jumper. "I've got a date with Lily Evans."
I've got a date with Lily Evans, he repeats in his head.
He repeats it over and over.
"You sly dog!" Sirius says. "No, wait. That's me." (Remus rolls his eyes.) "You stalwart stag! How on earth did you manage to con her into finally saying 'yes'?"
"I don't know," says James. "Honestly. I just — I was coming back from the pitch and she caught me and we talked, and it sort of just led to me embarrassingly pouring my guts out, and then she said 'yes'."
Remus smiles. "James," he says, "that's brilliant. That really, really is brilliant."
"That'd explain why you weren't back here after dinner," says Sirius.
"Well, you weren't at dinner at all," Peter adds.
"That's all right," James says. He has the warm, comforting feeling of shepherd's pie and happiness in his stomach. "I popped down to the kitchens with Lily."
Sirius blinks. "The kitchens? The Hogwarts' kitchens?"
"Yeah. What other kitchens are there?" James starts to change into his pyjamas.
"It's 'Lily' now, is it?" Remus' smile widens, cheekily.
"Well, I can't go on calling her 'Evans' now, can I? It's not — I don't know …"
"Boyfriend-like?" Peter fills in.
James finds his face heating against his will. He laughs it off with a slightly embarrassed, "Yeah, I guess." He rubs his face. "Anyway, Lily's a great name."
"It is," Remus says.
Sirius clears his throat. "Right. Well, that's brilliant you got a date — finally — with Lily Evans. But you've got a game tomorrow, don't you, mate. Captain Potter needs his beauty sleep, and I expect Gryffindor to win the game tomorrow."
"Of course," says Remus.
James grins. "Right. I suspect we'll do all right."
She said 'yes'.
He can do just about anything.
032. 29 october 1976. evening.
Jul. 3rd, 2011 10:07 pmOctober 10, 1976 — 21:45 hrs
Hogwarts, Scotland
Corridor near the Quidditch pitch
James leaves the Quidditch pitch at about nine forty-five at night, fifteen minutes before curfew, still in his Quidditch gear. Practice had been over for hours now, but James didn't want to leave — not until Madam Hooch kicked him out, anyway, after telling him that no competitors of the upcoming match were allowed to be near the vicinity for 'safety reasons'.
Right, thinks James. It was very likely because of what happened a few years ago when one of the Slytherin team members decided to tamper with the Bludgers in order to beat Gryffindor that game. He remembers when Anthony Hillert-Stein got a Bludger right to the face, breaking his nose and costing the Gryffindors a Chaser for the rest of the season.
Either way, he didn't want to argue, so he leaves.
He'd been sitting in the stands, with a full view of the pitch, going over every strategy he and his teammates had come up with in his head. He pictured Cliona catching the Quaffle from mid-center of the pitch, then passing it to him; they'd fly forward before James tossed the Quaffle back to Cliona, tricking the others into thinking he was going to pass to Shacklebolt instead ...
He'd done just about as much as he could as Captain. He's almost entirely sure he's matched Quentin March for Most Obsessive Captain of the Gryffindor Team in Decades now, and after this game, he's sure he'll even surpass the other bloke.
It very nearly shames him, but more than that, James thinks he can finally fully appreciate the tenacity of their former captain to keep going, even when your teammates think you've gone completely mad.
He is still mumbling tactics under his breath when he makes his way through the dim corridors of Hogwarts, on his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Corridor near the Quidditch pitch
James leaves the Quidditch pitch at about nine forty-five at night, fifteen minutes before curfew, still in his Quidditch gear. Practice had been over for hours now, but James didn't want to leave — not until Madam Hooch kicked him out, anyway, after telling him that no competitors of the upcoming match were allowed to be near the vicinity for 'safety reasons'.
Right, thinks James. It was very likely because of what happened a few years ago when one of the Slytherin team members decided to tamper with the Bludgers in order to beat Gryffindor that game. He remembers when Anthony Hillert-Stein got a Bludger right to the face, breaking his nose and costing the Gryffindors a Chaser for the rest of the season.
Either way, he didn't want to argue, so he leaves.
He'd been sitting in the stands, with a full view of the pitch, going over every strategy he and his teammates had come up with in his head. He pictured Cliona catching the Quaffle from mid-center of the pitch, then passing it to him; they'd fly forward before James tossed the Quaffle back to Cliona, tricking the others into thinking he was going to pass to Shacklebolt instead ...
He'd done just about as much as he could as Captain. He's almost entirely sure he's matched Quentin March for Most Obsessive Captain of the Gryffindor Team in Decades now, and after this game, he's sure he'll even surpass the other bloke.
It very nearly shames him, but more than that, James thinks he can finally fully appreciate the tenacity of their former captain to keep going, even when your teammates think you've gone completely mad.
He is still mumbling tactics under his breath when he makes his way through the dim corridors of Hogwarts, on his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.
031. 10 october 1976. later that evening.
Jun. 22nd, 2011 10:23 pmOctober 10, 1976 — Evening
Hogwarts, Scotland
Outside the Great Hall
It was a little strange how the Marauders seemed to have dwindled down by half that night.
Peter had arranged to get a little bit of extra help from a tutor for Herbology, and so after a quick helping of shepherd's pie and a couple of chicken drumsticks, he'd dashed off to the library. Honestly, he was becoming something of a Ravenclaw in study habits.
Sirius, of course, had gone off with Perdita to some location unknown though he'd made a big point of demonstrating how reluctant he felt going; it was only because he had promised to make it up to Perdita that he eventually relented.
That left James and Remus finishing the rest of their dinner with a sense of peace neither of them had known for six years. (Well, in Remus' case, anyway.)
"A bit weird, isn't it?" James says, picking at his cauldron cake with a frown.
"We could all do with a bit of change once in a —" Remus shakes his head. "Yeah," he finally says. "Definitely weird."
James laughs.
"So, Moony, it's just you and me tonight. I suppose we could always play a game of Wizard's Chess until Pete gets back."
"Or maybe you could actually finish up that Potions homework you were supposed to do," Remus points out.
James groans. "Don't even talk to me about Potions. Speaking of 'weird' things."
"You mean with Snivellus."
James nods. He'd told the Marauders what had happened in Potions class right after Potions class, being sure to describe how Snivellus' stare made him feel like he'd swallowed a bucket full of flobberworms. "Yeah, with Snivellus."
Remus' eyes flit past James' shoulder towards the Slytherin table for a brief second.
Once they've had their fill of dessert, James and Remus get up to head for the door and the Gryffindor Common Room.
"All right, Moony," James says, surrendering, "I'll work on Potions homework tonight."
"You won't regret it, you know. In fact, you getting a perfect score in Potions will probably help you impress Lily. It is her favourite — and best — subject, after all."
"Are you sure it wouldn't do the opposite? She might think I was trying to show her up."
Remus sighs the sort of sigh that tells him he's being a stupid, stupid, childish git.
James starts to laugh.
Neither of them notices, until moments later, that they're being followed. Not until the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand. His hand is already gripping his wand when he turns; he can see that Remus' is too.
"Potter," Snape spits. "Lupin. Good evening."
Mulciber sneers beside him.
"Yeah, right," says James. "What d'you want, Snivellus?"
Because he hardly thinks Snape means to come out to wish them a 'good evening'.
His eyes go quickly to the greasy git's hands; they both have their wands too. James doesn't honestly think they'd be stupid enough to try anything in plain sight of any passing student, but they have been known to do some ridiculously stupid things in the past.
When Snape doesn't answer, James continues. "Had a good summer, then, ol' Snivvy? We haven't talked since — oh, that little run-in with the pants last year, yeah? Did you manage to give them a wash, then?"
Maybe he's being stupid too, provoking him like this, he realizes, but Snape really has a way of setting his temper on fire.
Snape narrows his eyes in response. He raises his wand and sends blue sparks in James and Remus' direction — but not before James has cast a shield spell.
Remus shakes his head. "Look, whatever problems you have, this is not the time or the place to settle them. Dueling anywhere on school grounds outside of a properly regulated environment is strictly forbidden."
"Shut up," Mulciber says with all the eloquence of a block-headed Slytherin, sending a silent hex forward.
Well, James thinks, at least they're practicing their wordless spells.
Remus ducks. It bounces off the wall behind them, chipping the tough stone with flecks of debris. He sends a stunning spell in Mulciber's direction, just as quickly, with a deft flick of the wrist. Mulciber goes down like a heavy sack of potatoes.
James raises his eyebrows.
"Blimey, Remus. That was brilliant."
Remus smiles a little bashfully.
"You — have no right to be with her," Snape growls.
James turns his attention back to the greasy slug in front of them. "And, what? You do?"
"She's — I'm —"
"Well? Spit it out, Snivellus," James snaps. "I don't know when you started staring at her like that, or how long you plan to go on doing so, but it's making her uncomfortable. If you really care about her, you'll stop."
"How dare you tell me what to do as if you know her. You don't know her. You never have." The unsaid 'Not like I do' lingers in the air even after Snape flicks his wand. James barely dodges the aimed curse this time.
"That's enough," Remus says. "I will take 50 points off Slytherin for both you and Mulciber if you don't stop this right now."
Snape hardly seems to care for Remus' threats; in fact, he looks a bit wild with rage, like a madman. It's only the sound of an approaching group of giggling and chattering students, having finished their dinners, that gets him to stop.
Remus pulls on James' robes sleeve.
"Come on, Prongs."
"This isn't over, Potter," Snape says.
"No, I suppose not," James says.
When they've reached the Common Room, James goes straight for their dorm room, homework and everything else be damned.
Remus follows.
"Are you all right, James?" he asks, closing the door behind them.
James rubs his face, his glasses going askew. He flings his wand across his bed and starts to undo his tie. "I don't know," he admits. "Bugger it all, I hate that I'm actually considering what Snivellus said."
Remus frowns. "What, about you not knowing Lily at all?"
James doesn't answer, but his silence is response enough.
"Isn't that why you fancy her?" Remus says, instead. "Because you want to learn more about her? Isn't that what fancying someone's about?"
James pauses.
"It's obvious Snape doesn't know her either. If he did, they'd still be friends, wouldn't they?"
"Yeah," James finally says. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
Remus nods. "I wouldn't put any weight on anything that comes out of that greasy git's mouth," he says, adopting their usual description of Snape, the one he usually chooses to be careful about using.
James smiles against his will. "You know, you're a lot better with giving advice than Padfoot is."
"Yes, well. That's not exactly news, is it?" Remus smiles too. "Come on, James. A quick game of Wizard's Chess downstairs, all right?"
"Yeah, all right."
He's not sure he can fully believe Remus just yet, even if it does make a whole lot of sense, but it's something.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Outside the Great Hall
It was a little strange how the Marauders seemed to have dwindled down by half that night.
Peter had arranged to get a little bit of extra help from a tutor for Herbology, and so after a quick helping of shepherd's pie and a couple of chicken drumsticks, he'd dashed off to the library. Honestly, he was becoming something of a Ravenclaw in study habits.
Sirius, of course, had gone off with Perdita to some location unknown though he'd made a big point of demonstrating how reluctant he felt going; it was only because he had promised to make it up to Perdita that he eventually relented.
That left James and Remus finishing the rest of their dinner with a sense of peace neither of them had known for six years. (Well, in Remus' case, anyway.)
"A bit weird, isn't it?" James says, picking at his cauldron cake with a frown.
"We could all do with a bit of change once in a —" Remus shakes his head. "Yeah," he finally says. "Definitely weird."
James laughs.
"So, Moony, it's just you and me tonight. I suppose we could always play a game of Wizard's Chess until Pete gets back."
"Or maybe you could actually finish up that Potions homework you were supposed to do," Remus points out.
James groans. "Don't even talk to me about Potions. Speaking of 'weird' things."
"You mean with Snivellus."
James nods. He'd told the Marauders what had happened in Potions class right after Potions class, being sure to describe how Snivellus' stare made him feel like he'd swallowed a bucket full of flobberworms. "Yeah, with Snivellus."
Remus' eyes flit past James' shoulder towards the Slytherin table for a brief second.
Once they've had their fill of dessert, James and Remus get up to head for the door and the Gryffindor Common Room.
"All right, Moony," James says, surrendering, "I'll work on Potions homework tonight."
"You won't regret it, you know. In fact, you getting a perfect score in Potions will probably help you impress Lily. It is her favourite — and best — subject, after all."
"Are you sure it wouldn't do the opposite? She might think I was trying to show her up."
Remus sighs the sort of sigh that tells him he's being a stupid, stupid, childish git.
James starts to laugh.
Neither of them notices, until moments later, that they're being followed. Not until the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand. His hand is already gripping his wand when he turns; he can see that Remus' is too.
"Potter," Snape spits. "Lupin. Good evening."
Mulciber sneers beside him.
"Yeah, right," says James. "What d'you want, Snivellus?"
Because he hardly thinks Snape means to come out to wish them a 'good evening'.
His eyes go quickly to the greasy git's hands; they both have their wands too. James doesn't honestly think they'd be stupid enough to try anything in plain sight of any passing student, but they have been known to do some ridiculously stupid things in the past.
When Snape doesn't answer, James continues. "Had a good summer, then, ol' Snivvy? We haven't talked since — oh, that little run-in with the pants last year, yeah? Did you manage to give them a wash, then?"
Maybe he's being stupid too, provoking him like this, he realizes, but Snape really has a way of setting his temper on fire.
Snape narrows his eyes in response. He raises his wand and sends blue sparks in James and Remus' direction — but not before James has cast a shield spell.
Remus shakes his head. "Look, whatever problems you have, this is not the time or the place to settle them. Dueling anywhere on school grounds outside of a properly regulated environment is strictly forbidden."
"Shut up," Mulciber says with all the eloquence of a block-headed Slytherin, sending a silent hex forward.
Well, James thinks, at least they're practicing their wordless spells.
Remus ducks. It bounces off the wall behind them, chipping the tough stone with flecks of debris. He sends a stunning spell in Mulciber's direction, just as quickly, with a deft flick of the wrist. Mulciber goes down like a heavy sack of potatoes.
James raises his eyebrows.
"Blimey, Remus. That was brilliant."
Remus smiles a little bashfully.
"You — have no right to be with her," Snape growls.
James turns his attention back to the greasy slug in front of them. "And, what? You do?"
"She's — I'm —"
"Well? Spit it out, Snivellus," James snaps. "I don't know when you started staring at her like that, or how long you plan to go on doing so, but it's making her uncomfortable. If you really care about her, you'll stop."
"How dare you tell me what to do as if you know her. You don't know her. You never have." The unsaid 'Not like I do' lingers in the air even after Snape flicks his wand. James barely dodges the aimed curse this time.
"That's enough," Remus says. "I will take 50 points off Slytherin for both you and Mulciber if you don't stop this right now."
Snape hardly seems to care for Remus' threats; in fact, he looks a bit wild with rage, like a madman. It's only the sound of an approaching group of giggling and chattering students, having finished their dinners, that gets him to stop.
Remus pulls on James' robes sleeve.
"Come on, Prongs."
"This isn't over, Potter," Snape says.
"No, I suppose not," James says.
When they've reached the Common Room, James goes straight for their dorm room, homework and everything else be damned.
Remus follows.
"Are you all right, James?" he asks, closing the door behind them.
James rubs his face, his glasses going askew. He flings his wand across his bed and starts to undo his tie. "I don't know," he admits. "Bugger it all, I hate that I'm actually considering what Snivellus said."
Remus frowns. "What, about you not knowing Lily at all?"
James doesn't answer, but his silence is response enough.
"Isn't that why you fancy her?" Remus says, instead. "Because you want to learn more about her? Isn't that what fancying someone's about?"
James pauses.
"It's obvious Snape doesn't know her either. If he did, they'd still be friends, wouldn't they?"
"Yeah," James finally says. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
Remus nods. "I wouldn't put any weight on anything that comes out of that greasy git's mouth," he says, adopting their usual description of Snape, the one he usually chooses to be careful about using.
James smiles against his will. "You know, you're a lot better with giving advice than Padfoot is."
"Yes, well. That's not exactly news, is it?" Remus smiles too. "Come on, James. A quick game of Wizard's Chess downstairs, all right?"
"Yeah, all right."
He's not sure he can fully believe Remus just yet, even if it does make a whole lot of sense, but it's something.
030. 3 october 1976. mad breakfast party.
Jun. 19th, 2011 08:38 pmOctober 3, 1976 — 08:35 hours.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Dining Hall
It's a Sunday at Hogwarts, and while there are a good deal of early risers, a greater part of the student body appears to still be asleep, completely oblivious to the shameless display of public affection going on right next to James Potter and the other Marauders.
James rolls his eyes for the hundredth time that morning alone and leans into his toast.
"This could use more jam," he says conversationally to Remus, who is staring at Sirius Black and Perdita Pennifold snogging with an expression of helpless disgust.
Prefect or not, Sirius is their best friend and it's terribly hard to tell someone off on a weekend morning as it is.
"Pass me the jam, Moony," James prompts, snapping his fingers in front of the other boy's face.
"Uh — oh. Right." Remus blinks, grabbing the jar of apricot jam and sliding it forward. He turns back to his eggs and pokes at them with his fork, very purposefully focusing on them.
Peter looks as though he wants to drown himself in his porridge. He's hunched over his bowl, both elbows on the table.
James gives him a sympathetic look when they meet eyes.
This is honestly a bit pathetic. Look at the three of them, he thinks, reduced to embarrassed husks of their former selves.
"Mm — that'sh a bhit too much bread, Perdi —" Sirius says, laughing as he struggles to chew the chunk of bread she had just hand-fed him.
Perdita giggles. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sirikins," she says, adopting a cloyingly apologetic tone.
Then she brings her thumb up to wipe at some invisible crumb from his mouth.
Ugh.
"They're just so loud about it," Remus mumbles.
James rues the day they ever woke up this morning to find Sirius and Perdita already in the Common Room, holding hands and snogging. When he checked the clock, he was utterly flummoxed to find that it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.
Before eight and the two of them were already at it.
James accidentally stabs his toast with his knife, all the way through to the ceramic plate at the bottom. It makes a distinct chinking sound. "Bugger."
"— wait," Sirius is saying. "You've got syrup from the pancakes on your face."
Perdita blinks, staring at him with an obvious doe-eyed expression of obliviousness.
James wants to hex them both.
"What?" she asks. "Where?"
Sirius laughs. "It's right there!"
"Here?"
"No — here, let me get it. On your chin. Right —"
Sirius leans forward and licks it — bloody licks it — from her chin.
Right.
James puts his knife down.
That's it.
Remus' eyes have widened to the size of saucers. Peter chokes on a spoonful of his porridge and starts to cough.
James gets to his feet.
"Yeah, we're going over there now," he says, gesturing towards the other end of the table where Lily, Cliona and the other girls are seated, having breakfast in peace.
Remus and Peter rise to follow without a word of complaint or otherwise.
Remus shakes his head. "I'm almost tempted to take 50 points from Gryffindor for that. But we're all in Gryffindor."
"Right." James approaches the girls. "Good morning, Evans. D'you mind if we take you up on sitting here?"
Hogwarts, Scotland
Dining Hall
It's a Sunday at Hogwarts, and while there are a good deal of early risers, a greater part of the student body appears to still be asleep, completely oblivious to the shameless display of public affection going on right next to James Potter and the other Marauders.
James rolls his eyes for the hundredth time that morning alone and leans into his toast.
"This could use more jam," he says conversationally to Remus, who is staring at Sirius Black and Perdita Pennifold snogging with an expression of helpless disgust.
Prefect or not, Sirius is their best friend and it's terribly hard to tell someone off on a weekend morning as it is.
"Pass me the jam, Moony," James prompts, snapping his fingers in front of the other boy's face.
"Uh — oh. Right." Remus blinks, grabbing the jar of apricot jam and sliding it forward. He turns back to his eggs and pokes at them with his fork, very purposefully focusing on them.
Peter looks as though he wants to drown himself in his porridge. He's hunched over his bowl, both elbows on the table.
James gives him a sympathetic look when they meet eyes.
This is honestly a bit pathetic. Look at the three of them, he thinks, reduced to embarrassed husks of their former selves.
"Mm — that'sh a bhit too much bread, Perdi —" Sirius says, laughing as he struggles to chew the chunk of bread she had just hand-fed him.
Perdita giggles. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sirikins," she says, adopting a cloyingly apologetic tone.
Then she brings her thumb up to wipe at some invisible crumb from his mouth.
Ugh.
"They're just so loud about it," Remus mumbles.
James rues the day they ever woke up this morning to find Sirius and Perdita already in the Common Room, holding hands and snogging. When he checked the clock, he was utterly flummoxed to find that it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.
Before eight and the two of them were already at it.
James accidentally stabs his toast with his knife, all the way through to the ceramic plate at the bottom. It makes a distinct chinking sound. "Bugger."
"— wait," Sirius is saying. "You've got syrup from the pancakes on your face."
Perdita blinks, staring at him with an obvious doe-eyed expression of obliviousness.
James wants to hex them both.
"What?" she asks. "Where?"
Sirius laughs. "It's right there!"
"Here?"
"No — here, let me get it. On your chin. Right —"
Sirius leans forward and licks it — bloody licks it — from her chin.
Right.
James puts his knife down.
That's it.
Remus' eyes have widened to the size of saucers. Peter chokes on a spoonful of his porridge and starts to cough.
James gets to his feet.
"Yeah, we're going over there now," he says, gesturing towards the other end of the table where Lily, Cliona and the other girls are seated, having breakfast in peace.
Remus and Peter rise to follow without a word of complaint or otherwise.
Remus shakes his head. "I'm almost tempted to take 50 points from Gryffindor for that. But we're all in Gryffindor."
"Right." James approaches the girls. "Good morning, Evans. D'you mind if we take you up on sitting here?"
September 27, 1976 — 20:17 hours.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Gryffindor Common Room
Monday evening, after a day of classes, breaks, meal-times and spares being filled with curious Gryffindors approaching him on his final decisions, James Potter walks into the Gryffindor Common Room with a piece of fresh parchment and two names handwritten upon it.
Immediately, a group of fellow Gryffindors start to approach. As soon as James steps away, they seem to attack it like vultures.
Less than an hour later, James is seated by the fireplace. Remus is busy reading from one of his Charms textbooks. Peter is telling James about a run-in he'd had with Professor Sprout, and how confusing he was finding their most recent Herbology assignment. Sirius, as has been terribly common these days, is missing, having gone off with Perdita after classes.
Where he went and to do what, James doesn't want to know. But he glances up when Sebastian Edeson approaches.
The Seventh Year boy is grinning widely.
"Thanks, Potter," he says.
"That's Captain Potter," Aurelius says, coming up behind him. He slaps a hand against Edeson's back and beams. "Welcome to the team, mate."
"Thanks, Lomax. It's good to be on the team."
James smiles. "Just don't make me regret picking you over Howsham."
Edeson laughs. "Yeah? Well, he may be small, but that Second Year was good."
"I put him on reserve, anyway," says James.
It seemed like the right decision.
Both Lomax and Edeson nod. "Good idea," Edeson says. "Anyway, I just wanted to give you my thanks. I'll see you blokes on Friday."
"See you."
When Edeson leaves, James turns back to his other teammate.
"Has Bursnell seen the notice yet?" he asks.
Lomax shrugs. "I dunno," he answers. "I haven't seen her about yet. But I'm sure she'll be thrilled. It was between her and —?"
"Wilde-Ramsing," James fills in. "Felicity."
"Ah. Right. Well, she saw the posting," Aurelius says. "I saw her just now. Didn't look terribly pleased with the result, I reckon. But at least she didn't start to sob like Jess Sweeting did a couple years ago, d'you remember? When March told her she didn't make it on the team, she completely lost it."
James nods. "Yeah, I remember that. March said he felt like a monster."
... before ten seconds passed and he was discussing strategy.
"It's all part of a Captain's responsibilities, isn't it?"
"Yeah," James says. "I know. I think I can handle it. Even the crying, if it comes to that."
Hopefully.
"Oh, we all know you can, Potter," Lomax says, which is nice to hear. "That's why none of us are trying to usurp your throne." He starts to laugh.
James rolls his eyes. "Right, of course."
"Anyway. I've got a Transfiguration essay to start writing, so I should probably get to the library before it closes."
James nods.
"See you 'round, Potter."
Aurelius waves a hand in acknowledgment, then starts to head for the portrait hole.
"Friday," James calls out.
"I heard you, Captain!" Lomax laughs. "You're going to be worse than March, aren't you?"
At about the same time, Sirius comes in. He looks a little flustered, but he has his usual arrogant, 'I've just snogged the everliving daylights out of someone and it was fucking fantastic because I'm fucking fantastic!' look plastered across his face.
Lomax raises an eyebrow at him.
"Black," he says.
"Lomax," Sirius returns, grinning. "All right?"
"Yeah. Just on my way to the library."
"Brilliant. There might be a couple of stacks left in disarray, but I'm sure Madam Pince will have taken care of that by now."
"Do I even want to know?"
Sirius maintains his grin. Then he turns to James. "So, Captain — you up for a game of Exploding Snap?"
Hogwarts, Scotland
Gryffindor Common Room
Monday evening, after a day of classes, breaks, meal-times and spares being filled with curious Gryffindors approaching him on his final decisions, James Potter walks into the Gryffindor Common Room with a piece of fresh parchment and two names handwritten upon it.
Immediately, a group of fellow Gryffindors start to approach. As soon as James steps away, they seem to attack it like vultures.
Gryffindor Quidditch Team
Keeper — Joanna Bursnell
Beater — Sebastian Edeson
Congratulations.
Our first scheduled practice is this Friday evening at 6PM. Don't be late.
— JP
Less than an hour later, James is seated by the fireplace. Remus is busy reading from one of his Charms textbooks. Peter is telling James about a run-in he'd had with Professor Sprout, and how confusing he was finding their most recent Herbology assignment. Sirius, as has been terribly common these days, is missing, having gone off with Perdita after classes.
Where he went and to do what, James doesn't want to know. But he glances up when Sebastian Edeson approaches.
The Seventh Year boy is grinning widely.
"Thanks, Potter," he says.
"That's Captain Potter," Aurelius says, coming up behind him. He slaps a hand against Edeson's back and beams. "Welcome to the team, mate."
"Thanks, Lomax. It's good to be on the team."
James smiles. "Just don't make me regret picking you over Howsham."
Edeson laughs. "Yeah? Well, he may be small, but that Second Year was good."
"I put him on reserve, anyway," says James.
It seemed like the right decision.
Both Lomax and Edeson nod. "Good idea," Edeson says. "Anyway, I just wanted to give you my thanks. I'll see you blokes on Friday."
"See you."
When Edeson leaves, James turns back to his other teammate.
"Has Bursnell seen the notice yet?" he asks.
Lomax shrugs. "I dunno," he answers. "I haven't seen her about yet. But I'm sure she'll be thrilled. It was between her and —?"
"Wilde-Ramsing," James fills in. "Felicity."
"Ah. Right. Well, she saw the posting," Aurelius says. "I saw her just now. Didn't look terribly pleased with the result, I reckon. But at least she didn't start to sob like Jess Sweeting did a couple years ago, d'you remember? When March told her she didn't make it on the team, she completely lost it."
James nods. "Yeah, I remember that. March said he felt like a monster."
... before ten seconds passed and he was discussing strategy.
"It's all part of a Captain's responsibilities, isn't it?"
"Yeah," James says. "I know. I think I can handle it. Even the crying, if it comes to that."
Hopefully.
"Oh, we all know you can, Potter," Lomax says, which is nice to hear. "That's why none of us are trying to usurp your throne." He starts to laugh.
James rolls his eyes. "Right, of course."
"Anyway. I've got a Transfiguration essay to start writing, so I should probably get to the library before it closes."
James nods.
"See you 'round, Potter."
Aurelius waves a hand in acknowledgment, then starts to head for the portrait hole.
"Friday," James calls out.
"I heard you, Captain!" Lomax laughs. "You're going to be worse than March, aren't you?"
At about the same time, Sirius comes in. He looks a little flustered, but he has his usual arrogant, 'I've just snogged the everliving daylights out of someone and it was fucking fantastic because I'm fucking fantastic!' look plastered across his face.
Lomax raises an eyebrow at him.
"Black," he says.
"Lomax," Sirius returns, grinning. "All right?"
"Yeah. Just on my way to the library."
"Brilliant. There might be a couple of stacks left in disarray, but I'm sure Madam Pince will have taken care of that by now."
"Do I even want to know?"
Sirius maintains his grin. Then he turns to James. "So, Captain — you up for a game of Exploding Snap?"
September 25, 1976 — 15:00 hours.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
For two open positions, there certainly seems to be a great many Gryffindors from Second Year onwards trying out. In fact, James thinks (as he quickly skims through the list of hopefuls), this may very well be nearly every single Gryffindor between the ages of 12 to 17.
He readjusts his glasses and steps out onto the pitch. He is dressed in his Quidditch uniform, shiny Captain's badge fastened securely on his chest to look the part.
"Right," he starts, facing the crowd, "so you all know why you're here today. There's an opening for a new Beater and Keeper this year since Arlet and Quentin graduated. The way we'll go about this is I'll call you up, then we'll see what you've got — play with the team a bit, things like that. Sounds good?"
There's a symphony of the affirmative.
James waves a hand to the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, all of whom have kept their positions as is. Cliona Byrne, Raquel Clayworth, Aurelius Lomax and Eugene Shacklebolt step onto the pitch and ready their broomsticks.
"All right. First up, Patrick Ailsbury for — Beater, is it?"
Patrick, a Third Year James has never actually seen about the school before steps up. He's got a slightly lanky frame and a piebald complexion.
"That's right," says Patrick.
James waves him on. "Let's see what you've got."
He stands to the side with a decent view of the pitch so he can oversee the way the boy plays, but at the sight of Ailsbury having a bit of difficulty mounting his broomstick, James can already tell this isn't going to be particularly promising.
His predictions turn out to be right.
First of all, he can hardly swing his Beater's bat. And when he does, he manages to miss just about every target, even when Aurelius purposely puts himself in the way as the most obvious target possible.
James shakes his head, crossing out Ailsbury's name.
"Next, please," he says, when Patrick has landed.
It goes on for two, three, maybe even four hours. From time to time, James looks up into the stands, counting down the number of Gryffindors eager to snag the two spots on the team. There seem to be a fair number of students who are simply there to watch the tryouts.
He can't help but notice that Lily Evans is one of them.
And so are a number of girls, sitting in the front row. When they catch his eye, a couple of them start to wave enthusiastically. One of them winks at him.
James smiles politely, then looks away.
He carefully doesn't look in Evans' direction again.
"Er — Millicent Frisbey. Keeper, then?"
"Yeah," says Millicent. She approaches the pitch, broomstick in hand. She's in Fifth Year, a stout girl with wild curly blonde hair and a vaguely intimidating look on her face. In other words, she looks the part for a decent Keeper.
And she does seem to play quite decently.
The only problem, James learns, is that she doesn't seem to be getting on with the rest of the team. She's a bit bossy, actually.
"Oy — Shacklebolt, is it? You ought to go 'round that way. It'll be easier to get a shot in from there," she's yelling.
James slowly crosses Millicent's name off.
The next player is a bloke called Daniel Bungard, trying out for Keeper. He's a Fourth Year with a mop of messy sand-coloured hair and spritely features. A bit short and small in stature, he looks more like a Second Year than anything.
When James calls him up, Bungard moves forward and mounts his broom before zipping off towards the goal posts.
"All right, let's see what you can do, Bungard," says James. He blows the whistle and the team set off.
After a few minutes of watching, James concludes that Bungard, surprisingly, appears to be quick and agile, making up for his lack of bulk. Each time Cliona or Shacklebolt attempts to score a goal, Bungard is right there blocking it. Small though he may be, he's got accurate technique.
James looks down at his list, finds Bungard's name, and draws a small star next to it.
By the end of the tryouts, the sun has nearly disappeared off the horizon and the brisk evening air has settled on to the pitch. He and the rest of his teammates start to gather the equipment up. James folds the try-outs list into small squares and tucks it into his pocket.
When the pitch has cleared out, Raquel Clayworth approaches him.
"Captain?" she starts.
James turns to glance over his shoulder, having just closed the trunk for the Quidditch balls. It occurs to him that he really likes the title. "Clayworth. Hullo — had a good summer, then?"
"Yeah. It was brilliant," she says. "I just wanted to congratulate you, really, on getting the role of Captain. And that I promise I won't let you down this year."
James straightens and gets to his feet.
She looks so earnest that James finds it hard to come up with the right words to say for a moment. He has a feeling he knows what this is about.
Last year, he hadn't exactly shown great leadership qualities when he stormed off the pitch after losing to Slytherin. He hadn't put the blame on anyone, least of all Raquel Clayworth, but he could see why she might get the idea that he would. She was Seeker, after all.
"I know you won't," he says kindly. "You're brilliant, Clayworth. We'll beat Slytherin this year."
Raquel's serious expression lightens.
"Yeah," she says. Then she notices the trunk for the Quidditch balls. "Well — d'you want some help with the equipment?"
"That'd be great, actually," says James.
Moments later, James is back in his usual clothing, on his way up to the Gryffindor Tower.
He's got about ten names with stars drawn next to them. Ten fair players to choose from; eight names he's got to eliminate for a new Beater and a new Keeper.
There are a couple of promising talents, but James has to admit that no one plays as well as Arlet and Quentin did — though it's not terribly surprising he'd think that way, having played with them since he was in his Second Year.
But — a decision's got to be made.
His first as the new Captain for the new year.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
For two open positions, there certainly seems to be a great many Gryffindors from Second Year onwards trying out. In fact, James thinks (as he quickly skims through the list of hopefuls), this may very well be nearly every single Gryffindor between the ages of 12 to 17.
He readjusts his glasses and steps out onto the pitch. He is dressed in his Quidditch uniform, shiny Captain's badge fastened securely on his chest to look the part.
"Right," he starts, facing the crowd, "so you all know why you're here today. There's an opening for a new Beater and Keeper this year since Arlet and Quentin graduated. The way we'll go about this is I'll call you up, then we'll see what you've got — play with the team a bit, things like that. Sounds good?"
There's a symphony of the affirmative.
James waves a hand to the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, all of whom have kept their positions as is. Cliona Byrne, Raquel Clayworth, Aurelius Lomax and Eugene Shacklebolt step onto the pitch and ready their broomsticks.
"All right. First up, Patrick Ailsbury for — Beater, is it?"
Patrick, a Third Year James has never actually seen about the school before steps up. He's got a slightly lanky frame and a piebald complexion.
"That's right," says Patrick.
James waves him on. "Let's see what you've got."
He stands to the side with a decent view of the pitch so he can oversee the way the boy plays, but at the sight of Ailsbury having a bit of difficulty mounting his broomstick, James can already tell this isn't going to be particularly promising.
His predictions turn out to be right.
First of all, he can hardly swing his Beater's bat. And when he does, he manages to miss just about every target, even when Aurelius purposely puts himself in the way as the most obvious target possible.
James shakes his head, crossing out Ailsbury's name.
"Next, please," he says, when Patrick has landed.
It goes on for two, three, maybe even four hours. From time to time, James looks up into the stands, counting down the number of Gryffindors eager to snag the two spots on the team. There seem to be a fair number of students who are simply there to watch the tryouts.
He can't help but notice that Lily Evans is one of them.
And so are a number of girls, sitting in the front row. When they catch his eye, a couple of them start to wave enthusiastically. One of them winks at him.
James smiles politely, then looks away.
He carefully doesn't look in Evans' direction again.
"Er — Millicent Frisbey. Keeper, then?"
"Yeah," says Millicent. She approaches the pitch, broomstick in hand. She's in Fifth Year, a stout girl with wild curly blonde hair and a vaguely intimidating look on her face. In other words, she looks the part for a decent Keeper.
And she does seem to play quite decently.
The only problem, James learns, is that she doesn't seem to be getting on with the rest of the team. She's a bit bossy, actually.
"Oy — Shacklebolt, is it? You ought to go 'round that way. It'll be easier to get a shot in from there," she's yelling.
James slowly crosses Millicent's name off.
The next player is a bloke called Daniel Bungard, trying out for Keeper. He's a Fourth Year with a mop of messy sand-coloured hair and spritely features. A bit short and small in stature, he looks more like a Second Year than anything.
When James calls him up, Bungard moves forward and mounts his broom before zipping off towards the goal posts.
"All right, let's see what you can do, Bungard," says James. He blows the whistle and the team set off.
After a few minutes of watching, James concludes that Bungard, surprisingly, appears to be quick and agile, making up for his lack of bulk. Each time Cliona or Shacklebolt attempts to score a goal, Bungard is right there blocking it. Small though he may be, he's got accurate technique.
James looks down at his list, finds Bungard's name, and draws a small star next to it.
By the end of the tryouts, the sun has nearly disappeared off the horizon and the brisk evening air has settled on to the pitch. He and the rest of his teammates start to gather the equipment up. James folds the try-outs list into small squares and tucks it into his pocket.
When the pitch has cleared out, Raquel Clayworth approaches him.
"Captain?" she starts.
James turns to glance over his shoulder, having just closed the trunk for the Quidditch balls. It occurs to him that he really likes the title. "Clayworth. Hullo — had a good summer, then?"
"Yeah. It was brilliant," she says. "I just wanted to congratulate you, really, on getting the role of Captain. And that I promise I won't let you down this year."
James straightens and gets to his feet.
She looks so earnest that James finds it hard to come up with the right words to say for a moment. He has a feeling he knows what this is about.
Last year, he hadn't exactly shown great leadership qualities when he stormed off the pitch after losing to Slytherin. He hadn't put the blame on anyone, least of all Raquel Clayworth, but he could see why she might get the idea that he would. She was Seeker, after all.
"I know you won't," he says kindly. "You're brilliant, Clayworth. We'll beat Slytherin this year."
Raquel's serious expression lightens.
"Yeah," she says. Then she notices the trunk for the Quidditch balls. "Well — d'you want some help with the equipment?"
"That'd be great, actually," says James.
Moments later, James is back in his usual clothing, on his way up to the Gryffindor Tower.
He's got about ten names with stars drawn next to them. Ten fair players to choose from; eight names he's got to eliminate for a new Beater and a new Keeper.
There are a couple of promising talents, but James has to admit that no one plays as well as Arlet and Quentin did — though it's not terribly surprising he'd think that way, having played with them since he was in his Second Year.
But — a decision's got to be made.
His first as the new Captain for the new year.
027. september 1976
Jun. 5th, 2011 11:37 pmSeptember, 1976
Hogwarts, Scotland
Boys Dormitories
Directly after this; simultaneous to this.
The boys dorm is dark when James opens the door and steps in.
He's a bit torn tonight. Between his pleasant conversation with Lily and the slight tingling warmth from holding her hand just now, and seeing Sirius and Perdita in the Common Room, he isn't quite sure how to feel.
Content, or angry? It's difficult to make up his mind.
From the far bed, by the window, he can hear Peter's even snores from beneath his comforter. And from the bed nearest the door, he hears Remus' slow, quiet breathing.
That's not surprising, really.
Of the Marauders, it's usually James and Sirius who go to bed last. And honestly, it's getting late — even for him.
He undoes his tie and flings it across his bed before the door opens again and Sirius enters.
"Merlin's Beard!" Sirius swears with a low hiss. "I thought you were all asleep."
James shakes his head. "No," he says, keeping his own voice low. "I just got in too."
Sirius looks exactly as though he's just been snogging someone in the Common Room. His shirt's a bit of a mess — rumpled, with the shirttails sticking out of the waistband of his trousers. His longish hair is in disarray, and there's a ridiculous smirk on his face, the one they've all gotten used to. It expresses that all is right in the world because he's just snogged someone. James used to sport a look similar to that every now and then, before everything changed.
But now, Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" He starts to grin. "Finally got over Lily Evans, then?"
James has half a mind to come over and punch his best mate in the face. "No," he says again, and not without a hint of bite in his tone. "I was at Slughorn's stupid dinner thing, something you probably would have remembered if you weren't in the Common Room shamelessly snogging Perdita bloody Pennifold like you two were on display."
Sirius runs a hand through his hair almost guiltily. "You saw that? When?"
"Not long ago."
"Before Blane, yeah?" He seems to think about this. "Definitely before Blane. I would've noticed you walk in."
"Blane?"
Sirius looks wry. "Yeah. Him and Cliona came in and sort of — well, things were interrupted."
"So Cliona knows."
"Yeah. I suppose she does, now."
James thinks about Evans and Cliona and how likely it is that the rest of Evans' roommates are probably being informed about it right now. Including Glynis.
He remembers how concerned Evans was about Glynis finding out.
Bloody hell.
"You know what, you're sort of a prick, Pads."
"What?"
"What's going on?" comes a groggy voice from Remus' bed. Remus sits up, rubbing his eyes.
"Nothing," says Sirius. "Go back to bed, Moony."
"Sirius has just been caught snogging Perdita down in the Common Room," James explains without hesitation.
"Perdita?" Remus repeats. "Perdita Pennifold? Lily's friend?"
James nods. "Yeah, that's her."
"Perdita." Remus blinks. "You, Sirius Black, and Perdita."
"Yeah, so?" Sirius shrugs. "What's so bloody inconceivable about me and Perdita Pennifold?"
Peter's snores can be heard in the background.
"Well," Remus starts, "how about the fact that you two have nothing in common? Not to mention the fact that she's friends with Lily Evans and Glynis Cadwallader. And you know how much she —"
"Fancies me — yeah, yeah," Sirius says airily. "But tons of girls fancy me. What does it matter? What's the difference?"
James shakes his head and lets out a low breath.
Remus actually laughs, and it's a wonder that all Peter does is grunt a little in his sleep and turns over. "It matters," Remus explains the way one might if they were speaking to a very small, very young child, "because she's friends with Lily and Cliona. Glynis and Perdita are. You already know how much James fancies Lily. You know how close James and Cliona are. Honestly, you're treading very dangerous ground here, Padfoot."
"So, what? I've got to go about asking permission for who to snog now?"
"Is that all it is?" James asks. "Snogging?"
"Well —" Sirius looks from James to Remus. "No. Of course not. A situation as 'delicate' as this one is, it takes more care. I'm going to go out with Perdita."
"Did you just decide this about five seconds ago?" James asks.
"No," Sirius lies.
Remus sighs exasperatedly.
"Look, it just happened," says Sirius. "Neither of us meant for it to. We were bored. It was something fun to do. And I didn't think any of Evans' friends would be into it, given how rubbish she is with you, Prongs, so it took me by surprise. But you know what? It's brilliant."
"So you're not going to stop."
"No," says Sirius. "I'm not going to stop."
James doesn't say anything else.
"Like I said," Remus says, "this could get a bit dangerous. If you bugger it up with Perdita, it'll affect the rest of her friends. And that includes Lily."
"What do you know, Moony? S'not like you've got a plethora of experience with girls, do you?"
"I don't need to have experience to understand how these things work," Remus says, a little indignantly. "A couple of brain cells to rub together works well enough, I find."
Sirius scoffs. "It'll be fine. It's not like I'm bloody marrying the girl or anything."
"Just don't be an insensitive idiot, Padfoot," James says. "And try not to be so revolting when you're with her, too. No one needs to see you sucking Perdita's face off in the middle of the Gryffindor Tower, all right?"
"No one made you watch, Prongs."
"Don't be an idiot," James repeats before he reaches for his pyjamas.
Somehow, unsurprisingly, he's got a bad feeling about this. And when he exchanges glances with Remus, before they flick off the lights, it's clear the other boy is thinking the same thing.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Boys Dormitories
Directly after this; simultaneous to this.
The boys dorm is dark when James opens the door and steps in.
He's a bit torn tonight. Between his pleasant conversation with Lily and the slight tingling warmth from holding her hand just now, and seeing Sirius and Perdita in the Common Room, he isn't quite sure how to feel.
Content, or angry? It's difficult to make up his mind.
From the far bed, by the window, he can hear Peter's even snores from beneath his comforter. And from the bed nearest the door, he hears Remus' slow, quiet breathing.
That's not surprising, really.
Of the Marauders, it's usually James and Sirius who go to bed last. And honestly, it's getting late — even for him.
He undoes his tie and flings it across his bed before the door opens again and Sirius enters.
"Merlin's Beard!" Sirius swears with a low hiss. "I thought you were all asleep."
James shakes his head. "No," he says, keeping his own voice low. "I just got in too."
Sirius looks exactly as though he's just been snogging someone in the Common Room. His shirt's a bit of a mess — rumpled, with the shirttails sticking out of the waistband of his trousers. His longish hair is in disarray, and there's a ridiculous smirk on his face, the one they've all gotten used to. It expresses that all is right in the world because he's just snogged someone. James used to sport a look similar to that every now and then, before everything changed.
But now, Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" He starts to grin. "Finally got over Lily Evans, then?"
James has half a mind to come over and punch his best mate in the face. "No," he says again, and not without a hint of bite in his tone. "I was at Slughorn's stupid dinner thing, something you probably would have remembered if you weren't in the Common Room shamelessly snogging Perdita bloody Pennifold like you two were on display."
Sirius runs a hand through his hair almost guiltily. "You saw that? When?"
"Not long ago."
"Before Blane, yeah?" He seems to think about this. "Definitely before Blane. I would've noticed you walk in."
"Blane?"
Sirius looks wry. "Yeah. Him and Cliona came in and sort of — well, things were interrupted."
"So Cliona knows."
"Yeah. I suppose she does, now."
James thinks about Evans and Cliona and how likely it is that the rest of Evans' roommates are probably being informed about it right now. Including Glynis.
He remembers how concerned Evans was about Glynis finding out.
Bloody hell.
"You know what, you're sort of a prick, Pads."
"What?"
"What's going on?" comes a groggy voice from Remus' bed. Remus sits up, rubbing his eyes.
"Nothing," says Sirius. "Go back to bed, Moony."
"Sirius has just been caught snogging Perdita down in the Common Room," James explains without hesitation.
"Perdita?" Remus repeats. "Perdita Pennifold? Lily's friend?"
James nods. "Yeah, that's her."
"Perdita." Remus blinks. "You, Sirius Black, and Perdita."
"Yeah, so?" Sirius shrugs. "What's so bloody inconceivable about me and Perdita Pennifold?"
Peter's snores can be heard in the background.
"Well," Remus starts, "how about the fact that you two have nothing in common? Not to mention the fact that she's friends with Lily Evans and Glynis Cadwallader. And you know how much she —"
"Fancies me — yeah, yeah," Sirius says airily. "But tons of girls fancy me. What does it matter? What's the difference?"
James shakes his head and lets out a low breath.
Remus actually laughs, and it's a wonder that all Peter does is grunt a little in his sleep and turns over. "It matters," Remus explains the way one might if they were speaking to a very small, very young child, "because she's friends with Lily and Cliona. Glynis and Perdita are. You already know how much James fancies Lily. You know how close James and Cliona are. Honestly, you're treading very dangerous ground here, Padfoot."
"So, what? I've got to go about asking permission for who to snog now?"
"Is that all it is?" James asks. "Snogging?"
"Well —" Sirius looks from James to Remus. "No. Of course not. A situation as 'delicate' as this one is, it takes more care. I'm going to go out with Perdita."
"Did you just decide this about five seconds ago?" James asks.
"No," Sirius lies.
Remus sighs exasperatedly.
"Look, it just happened," says Sirius. "Neither of us meant for it to. We were bored. It was something fun to do. And I didn't think any of Evans' friends would be into it, given how rubbish she is with you, Prongs, so it took me by surprise. But you know what? It's brilliant."
"So you're not going to stop."
"No," says Sirius. "I'm not going to stop."
James doesn't say anything else.
"Like I said," Remus says, "this could get a bit dangerous. If you bugger it up with Perdita, it'll affect the rest of her friends. And that includes Lily."
"What do you know, Moony? S'not like you've got a plethora of experience with girls, do you?"
"I don't need to have experience to understand how these things work," Remus says, a little indignantly. "A couple of brain cells to rub together works well enough, I find."
Sirius scoffs. "It'll be fine. It's not like I'm bloody marrying the girl or anything."
"Just don't be an insensitive idiot, Padfoot," James says. "And try not to be so revolting when you're with her, too. No one needs to see you sucking Perdita's face off in the middle of the Gryffindor Tower, all right?"
"No one made you watch, Prongs."
"Don't be an idiot," James repeats before he reaches for his pyjamas.
Somehow, unsurprisingly, he's got a bad feeling about this. And when he exchanges glances with Remus, before they flick off the lights, it's clear the other boy is thinking the same thing.
026. 27 august 1976.
May. 17th, 2011 10:24 pmAugust 27th, 1976
The Potter Residence
London, England
The doorbell rings.
Florence is catching up a bit on her reading in the living room while Dexter the house-elf dusts the furniture off in the hallway when it happens.
"I'll get it, Dexter," Mrs Potter says, marking the place with her bookmarker. She gets to her feet and heads towards the front door.
Dexter bows along the way with a, "Yes, Mistress," before disappearing into the dining room to continue his chores.
When Florence opens the door, the last person she expects to see is a young girl who looks about James' age.
Her first thought, once she's digested this, is that perhaps this is the 'Lily Evans' her son has been writing to all summer ... but she remembers overhearing little bits and pieces of her son's conversation and 'Lily Evans', she swears, had long, straight, ginger hair.
Oh, well.
It's not entirely unsurprising that James is a rather popular fellow.
"Hello, my dear. Can I help you?"
The Potter Residence
London, England
The doorbell rings.
Florence is catching up a bit on her reading in the living room while Dexter the house-elf dusts the furniture off in the hallway when it happens.
"I'll get it, Dexter," Mrs Potter says, marking the place with her bookmarker. She gets to her feet and heads towards the front door.
Dexter bows along the way with a, "Yes, Mistress," before disappearing into the dining room to continue his chores.
When Florence opens the door, the last person she expects to see is a young girl who looks about James' age.
Her first thought, once she's digested this, is that perhaps this is the 'Lily Evans' her son has been writing to all summer ... but she remembers overhearing little bits and pieces of her son's conversation and 'Lily Evans', she swears, had long, straight, ginger hair.
Oh, well.
It's not entirely unsurprising that James is a rather popular fellow.
"Hello, my dear. Can I help you?"
025. 25 august 1976.
May. 16th, 2011 12:08 amAugust 25th, 1976 — Evening
'Red Lion' Muggle Pub
London, England
Honestly, this feeling is hardly new.
Neither is the drinking.
But somehow ... somehow this is worse than all the other times.
Somehow, it bloody effing hurts more than all the other times.
After the rather disastrous early evening at The Leaky Cauldron, James dragged Sirius out before he could get them all butterbeers. He's sure he probably looked a bit ... well, insane when he told Cliona 'sorry' and that they had to go. Now.
And also angry.
But mostly insane.
"Let's find Remus and Peter," he says, when they've gone back out into the street. "We should — we need to get out of here."
"What's happened, Prongs?" Sirius asks, trying to pull James to a stop.
But James simply shakes him off.
(This is — unbelievable.
It's unbelievable.
Stupid, really.)
"I was —" James does stop, and quite suddenly too. Sirius nearly collides into him. "I was stupid, Padfoot. A complete idiot."
"... okay." Sirius studies his best friend. "You can't've been that stupid."
"I was."
"How?"
James doesn't answer. He's far too angry to answer. Or maybe insane. He doesn't even think he cares anymore which one it is because it's not the point.
They find Remus and Peter at Flourish & Blotts, which is — honestly — the last thing James needs, if Jeremy Flourish himself decides to make an appearance, offering them assistance on some book or another.
Luckily for both of them, he doesn't seem to be there.
And Remus, with a new book on shield and protection charms, looks from Sirius to James, then back again when he notes the change in their demeanor.
Surprisingly, it is Peter who asks, "Are you all right, James?"
James merely shakes his head. "We're going to a pub tonight, boys. Drinks on me. All night."
"The Lea —"
Sirius gives Peter a very severe warning sign, and Peter (smartly) drops the suggestion.
"Where, then?" he asks, instead.
"I don't know," says James. "Somewhere outside of Diagon Alley. Maybe — oy, Sirius. What was that place you and I went to the last time? The Muggle pub where you met whats-her-face."
"Nicola? That's the 'Red Lion'."
"Right." James marches forward with fresh deliberation. "There. We're going there."
"And then are you going to tell us what happened?" Remus asks.
James doesn't reply.
The pub is busy when they get there, but Nicola — upon recognizing Sirius Black — manages to snare a table for them with a surprisingly short wait.
"Pitchers of beer for you lot, then?"
"Yeah — thanks," says Sirius. "And keep them coming."
"Of course."
They settle into their seats, Peter looking a bit wary. He glances from his left to his right as though something might suddenly come out of the woodwork and bite him.
It only distantly occurs to James that this is probably Peter's first time in a Muggle pub, but he doesn't really care right now. If he can't bloody deal with it, he can bugger off.
They're all quiet until Nicola returns with pitchers and mugs. She looks expectantly at Sirius, but Sirius — bless him — doesn't seem at all interested in her tonight.
She leaves, obviously a bit put out.
Remus sets his things down. "All right, you've brought us all the way here and none of us have questioned your judgment, or your reasons. What happened this evening, James?"
Realizing that he's run out of distractions and excuses, James gulps down the first pint of the night, then tells them everything he can, leaving out the bits about Harry.
(Which, James realizes, is a huge part of why all of this stuff right now bothers him.
And it's bollocks that he can't tell them.)
Remus attempts to say something encouraging, like, "She'll come around, I'm sure. It might take a bit of time, but she'll realize how brilliant you are."
Peter adds a word or two of optimistic support.
Sirius, on the other hand, says, "D'you know what, maybe you needed Evans to tell you this so you could finally move on. Think of all the girls you've missed out on snogging while you were hung up over her. All those girls fancied you."
"That's not helping," Remus says.
"How's it not? It's true, isn't it?" Sirius shakes his head. "All that time wasted on a girl who led you on, only to tell you 'thanks but no thanks' — well, it's rubbish. You deserve better than that."
"It's not that easy," says James. "It's ... it's complicated."
"So? Get rid of that complication. To hell with Evans, anyway. She's brought us nothing but trouble ever since you started fancying her."
James doesn't say anything, only continues to drink.
"Look, mate. I know it's hard, and it's probably going to be shit for a good month or two ... but you'll get past this. You'll get over Evans. And then — well, we'll have the old James back. The fun James. The James who —"
"— who used to hex Severus Snape for fun? Who used to curse anyone who got in his way, or because he got bored? The James who punched your brother in the face?" James shakes his head. "I can't go back to that. I don't ... think I want to."
"But you were carefree then."
"I was stupid." James stares into his mug. "Not that I wasn't stupid again tonight."
Remus looks sympathetic, or as much as it's possible to look sympathetic on many, many pints of beer. "James ..."
By the end of the night — and it's been a long, long night — the four Marauders stumble out of the pub in pathetic shape.
It doesn't completely numb the ache in his chest, but it's bloody good enough for now.
And it's worth the horrible, horrible hangover awaiting them tomorrow morning.
And the yelling from his mum, when she learns why they've skived off her dinner that evening.
'Red Lion' Muggle Pub
London, England
Honestly, this feeling is hardly new.
Neither is the drinking.
But somehow ... somehow this is worse than all the other times.
Somehow, it bloody effing hurts more than all the other times.
After the rather disastrous early evening at The Leaky Cauldron, James dragged Sirius out before he could get them all butterbeers. He's sure he probably looked a bit ... well, insane when he told Cliona 'sorry' and that they had to go. Now.
And also angry.
But mostly insane.
"Let's find Remus and Peter," he says, when they've gone back out into the street. "We should — we need to get out of here."
"What's happened, Prongs?" Sirius asks, trying to pull James to a stop.
But James simply shakes him off.
(This is — unbelievable.
It's unbelievable.
Stupid, really.)
"I was —" James does stop, and quite suddenly too. Sirius nearly collides into him. "I was stupid, Padfoot. A complete idiot."
"... okay." Sirius studies his best friend. "You can't've been that stupid."
"I was."
"How?"
James doesn't answer. He's far too angry to answer. Or maybe insane. He doesn't even think he cares anymore which one it is because it's not the point.
They find Remus and Peter at Flourish & Blotts, which is — honestly — the last thing James needs, if Jeremy Flourish himself decides to make an appearance, offering them assistance on some book or another.
Luckily for both of them, he doesn't seem to be there.
And Remus, with a new book on shield and protection charms, looks from Sirius to James, then back again when he notes the change in their demeanor.
Surprisingly, it is Peter who asks, "Are you all right, James?"
James merely shakes his head. "We're going to a pub tonight, boys. Drinks on me. All night."
"The Lea —"
Sirius gives Peter a very severe warning sign, and Peter (smartly) drops the suggestion.
"Where, then?" he asks, instead.
"I don't know," says James. "Somewhere outside of Diagon Alley. Maybe — oy, Sirius. What was that place you and I went to the last time? The Muggle pub where you met whats-her-face."
"Nicola? That's the 'Red Lion'."
"Right." James marches forward with fresh deliberation. "There. We're going there."
"And then are you going to tell us what happened?" Remus asks.
James doesn't reply.
The pub is busy when they get there, but Nicola — upon recognizing Sirius Black — manages to snare a table for them with a surprisingly short wait.
"Pitchers of beer for you lot, then?"
"Yeah — thanks," says Sirius. "And keep them coming."
"Of course."
They settle into their seats, Peter looking a bit wary. He glances from his left to his right as though something might suddenly come out of the woodwork and bite him.
It only distantly occurs to James that this is probably Peter's first time in a Muggle pub, but he doesn't really care right now. If he can't bloody deal with it, he can bugger off.
They're all quiet until Nicola returns with pitchers and mugs. She looks expectantly at Sirius, but Sirius — bless him — doesn't seem at all interested in her tonight.
She leaves, obviously a bit put out.
Remus sets his things down. "All right, you've brought us all the way here and none of us have questioned your judgment, or your reasons. What happened this evening, James?"
Realizing that he's run out of distractions and excuses, James gulps down the first pint of the night, then tells them everything he can, leaving out the bits about Harry.
(Which, James realizes, is a huge part of why all of this stuff right now bothers him.
And it's bollocks that he can't tell them.)
Remus attempts to say something encouraging, like, "She'll come around, I'm sure. It might take a bit of time, but she'll realize how brilliant you are."
Peter adds a word or two of optimistic support.
Sirius, on the other hand, says, "D'you know what, maybe you needed Evans to tell you this so you could finally move on. Think of all the girls you've missed out on snogging while you were hung up over her. All those girls fancied you."
"That's not helping," Remus says.
"How's it not? It's true, isn't it?" Sirius shakes his head. "All that time wasted on a girl who led you on, only to tell you 'thanks but no thanks' — well, it's rubbish. You deserve better than that."
"It's not that easy," says James. "It's ... it's complicated."
"So? Get rid of that complication. To hell with Evans, anyway. She's brought us nothing but trouble ever since you started fancying her."
James doesn't say anything, only continues to drink.
"Look, mate. I know it's hard, and it's probably going to be shit for a good month or two ... but you'll get past this. You'll get over Evans. And then — well, we'll have the old James back. The fun James. The James who —"
"— who used to hex Severus Snape for fun? Who used to curse anyone who got in his way, or because he got bored? The James who punched your brother in the face?" James shakes his head. "I can't go back to that. I don't ... think I want to."
"But you were carefree then."
"I was stupid." James stares into his mug. "Not that I wasn't stupid again tonight."
Remus looks sympathetic, or as much as it's possible to look sympathetic on many, many pints of beer. "James ..."
By the end of the night — and it's been a long, long night — the four Marauders stumble out of the pub in pathetic shape.
It doesn't completely numb the ache in his chest, but it's bloody good enough for now.
And it's worth the horrible, horrible hangover awaiting them tomorrow morning.
And the yelling from his mum, when she learns why they've skived off her dinner that evening.
024. 25 august 1976.
May. 14th, 2011 10:11 pmAugust 25th, 1976 — Late afternoon
Diagon Alley
London, England
"I still say we ought to find Remus and Peter and get back to your house," Sirius says. "I'll bet your mum's cooked up something brilliant for dinner."
James shakes his head, looking through the window of one Flourish & Blotts store. (And hoping he won't catch sight of that blasted Jeremy.) "Just — give it another half hour."
Sirius groans, rubbing his face. "We've been here for hours already. You've been dragging us all about, looking for Evans and Cliona. And you won't even let me go out with Cliona."
James swivels around to give his best mate a look. "Um, mate, you can't go out with Cliona because she's got a boyfriend."
"That's never stopped me before."
"And," James adds, rolling his eyes impressively, "besides that, if you go out with her, it'll just — ruin the whole Quidditch season."
"How?"
"Because you're a bloody git, that's why."
"That's a stupid reason."
"It's not stupid, it's true."
"Well, then you've got the date wrong, because I haven't seen Cliona or Evans about."
"No. She told me they'd be here."
"At Milliways."
"Yeah."
"Are you sure you didn't dream that bit up?"
James turns away from the storefront and hopelessly glances about them. It's a long street, Diagon Alley; they could be anywhere.
Sirius' voice suddenly grows a little more sympathetic. "Can we at least get a butterbeer? This hopeless search has got me parched."
"Yeah, all right."
Together, they walk into the pub, noting familiar faces here and there — students come to pick up their school supplies, or otherwise spend the last of their summer holidays doing nothing in particular.
Then, scouting out a table, James hears Sirius swear before he stops where he is.
"What is it?"
"Looks like we found Evans," is what Sirius says. He almost sounds a little ... disappointed.
Following Sirius' gaze, James finds both Cliona and Evans at a table near the window.
Diagon Alley
London, England
"I still say we ought to find Remus and Peter and get back to your house," Sirius says. "I'll bet your mum's cooked up something brilliant for dinner."
James shakes his head, looking through the window of one Flourish & Blotts store. (And hoping he won't catch sight of that blasted Jeremy.) "Just — give it another half hour."
Sirius groans, rubbing his face. "We've been here for hours already. You've been dragging us all about, looking for Evans and Cliona. And you won't even let me go out with Cliona."
James swivels around to give his best mate a look. "Um, mate, you can't go out with Cliona because she's got a boyfriend."
"That's never stopped me before."
"And," James adds, rolling his eyes impressively, "besides that, if you go out with her, it'll just — ruin the whole Quidditch season."
"How?"
"Because you're a bloody git, that's why."
"That's a stupid reason."
"It's not stupid, it's true."
"Well, then you've got the date wrong, because I haven't seen Cliona or Evans about."
"No. She told me they'd be here."
"At Milliways."
"Yeah."
"Are you sure you didn't dream that bit up?"
James turns away from the storefront and hopelessly glances about them. It's a long street, Diagon Alley; they could be anywhere.
Sirius' voice suddenly grows a little more sympathetic. "Can we at least get a butterbeer? This hopeless search has got me parched."
"Yeah, all right."
Together, they walk into the pub, noting familiar faces here and there — students come to pick up their school supplies, or otherwise spend the last of their summer holidays doing nothing in particular.
Then, scouting out a table, James hears Sirius swear before he stops where he is.
"What is it?"
"Looks like we found Evans," is what Sirius says. He almost sounds a little ... disappointed.
Following Sirius' gaze, James finds both Cliona and Evans at a table near the window.
022. summer 1976
Mar. 29th, 2011 09:32 pmJuly 25, 1976 — Evening
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour
Diagon Alley, London
The match really, really could have gone better — but it's hard to feel too horrible about it when you're spending a brilliant evening with good food and good company.
Not that James particularly likes having to go over how Joseph Ryder somehow managed to lose the Quaffle not twice but three times, and how the Golden Snitch seemed to completely allude Anna Clarke's grasp, allowing the Ballycastle Bats to take it and win the match.
It was a close game, but with hardly a satisfying conclusion.
"Loser's buying, right?" Cliona grins. "That would be you, James."
Sirius laughs.
James rolls his eyes, shaking his head indulgently. "Right, right. Go ahead, then. Whatever flavours you want; it's on me."
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour
Diagon Alley, London
The match really, really could have gone better — but it's hard to feel too horrible about it when you're spending a brilliant evening with good food and good company.
Not that James particularly likes having to go over how Joseph Ryder somehow managed to lose the Quaffle not twice but three times, and how the Golden Snitch seemed to completely allude Anna Clarke's grasp, allowing the Ballycastle Bats to take it and win the match.
It was a close game, but with hardly a satisfying conclusion.
"Loser's buying, right?" Cliona grins. "That would be you, James."
Sirius laughs.
James rolls his eyes, shaking his head indulgently. "Right, right. Go ahead, then. Whatever flavours you want; it's on me."
020. summer 1976.
Mar. 15th, 2011 03:25 pmJuly 6, 1976 — Morning
The Potter Residence
London, England
"James!"
The boy in question groans from beneath his pillow, comforter, and his arms.
"James? Are you up yet?"
There's another groan from somewhere on the floor, followed by an irritated grumbling. "Prongs, get your mum to stop yelling, would you."
James doesn't have it in him to respond.
The door suddenly opens, letting in a flood of daylight.
"James! Sirius! Up you get, you lazy boys. Haven't you two noticed the time yet? And it's sunny outside. You should be doing something."
The voice — so familiar to James he could easily ignore it, and does so by not moving a single muscle — shifts towards the large window in James' room, pulling the curtains aside.
A very bright glow of light manages to find the smallest cracks in James' head-fort.
He shifts, but only marginally.
"All right, Mrs Potter, all right — I'm up!" says Sirius, letting out a loud sigh.
"Good." She sounds amused by Sirius' irritation. "And this came for you this morning, James," she adds, before leaving the two boys alone.
Something gets tossed by James' side. He can hear it flop lightly against the sheets gathered by his head.
There's a pause before James, fully awake, relinquishes any last thoughts of sleep.
He opens his eyes, reaches for his glasses on the night-stand and turns his head.
It's an envelope.
From the floor, Sirius yawns.
James picks it up and examines the handwriting. It's admittedly unfamiliar, definitely not Remus or Peter.
"What's that?" asks Sirius, as he comes over to the other side of the room to grab a fresh set of clothes from his suitcase.
"Letter," says James. His voice sounds groggy.
"Obviously," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "From who?"
"Dunno." James rips the top open without too much care, never having been one for meticulousness. Then he slips it out of its envelope, unfolds it, and scans the very last line for its sender, his entire body freezing for a second as he stares at the initials at the bottom.
L.E.
"Blimey," he says.
"What?"
James ignores him. He's begun to read through Evans' letter. It's short and brief, but honestly, James has never been so chuffed to receive a letter in the post before.
His heart feels light.
He feels wide awake.
Sirius throws a pair of socks in his direction, beaning him in the shoulder.
"What is it, then? Did you win something? Is it some hot bird —" He stops abruptly. "Wait." He appears to be putting two and two together. "It's Evans, isn't it? Evans actually sent you a letter!"
"Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"Why the bloody hell not? I was with you, wasn't I, when you spent an hour choosing the right postcard. The least you could do is let me see what she wrote."
"She actually sent me a reply letter, Pads," says James, hopping abruptly out of bed. "We should — we need another postcard."
"What?"
James feels overcome with a Need To Do Something. "Let's go somewhere else today. Some new Muggle place we haven't been."
"The Tower —?"
"— of London!" James finishes, nodding. "Yes. It's brilliant. It's perfectly Muggle. We'd seen pictures of it. And I'm sure there'll be postcards or something there."
"Well, yeah ..."
"Padfoot, we could practice using that Muggle money we got yesterday. You know, with the tiny silver bits."
"Could we take the Tube thing, too? I've been wanting to try it."
"Yeah," says James. He grins. "Yeah, let's do that, too."
It'll give him something to write about.
"And the pub!" James adds. "The one we saw on our way back, yesterday. We ought to try a real Muggle pub."
"Now that is a brilliant idea," says Sirius as James tucks the letter in between his set of Quidditch magazines on the night-stand and moves to get to the door. "But — Prongs? Just a note of advice?"
James turns around. "What?"
"Honestly, mate. While some girls might find your bare legs and pants quite fetching, I reckon you ought to get a proper pair of trousers on, first."
The Potter Residence
London, England
"James!"
The boy in question groans from beneath his pillow, comforter, and his arms.
"James? Are you up yet?"
There's another groan from somewhere on the floor, followed by an irritated grumbling. "Prongs, get your mum to stop yelling, would you."
James doesn't have it in him to respond.
The door suddenly opens, letting in a flood of daylight.
"James! Sirius! Up you get, you lazy boys. Haven't you two noticed the time yet? And it's sunny outside. You should be doing something."
The voice — so familiar to James he could easily ignore it, and does so by not moving a single muscle — shifts towards the large window in James' room, pulling the curtains aside.
A very bright glow of light manages to find the smallest cracks in James' head-fort.
He shifts, but only marginally.
"All right, Mrs Potter, all right — I'm up!" says Sirius, letting out a loud sigh.
"Good." She sounds amused by Sirius' irritation. "And this came for you this morning, James," she adds, before leaving the two boys alone.
Something gets tossed by James' side. He can hear it flop lightly against the sheets gathered by his head.
There's a pause before James, fully awake, relinquishes any last thoughts of sleep.
He opens his eyes, reaches for his glasses on the night-stand and turns his head.
It's an envelope.
From the floor, Sirius yawns.
James picks it up and examines the handwriting. It's admittedly unfamiliar, definitely not Remus or Peter.
"What's that?" asks Sirius, as he comes over to the other side of the room to grab a fresh set of clothes from his suitcase.
"Letter," says James. His voice sounds groggy.
"Obviously," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "From who?"
"Dunno." James rips the top open without too much care, never having been one for meticulousness. Then he slips it out of its envelope, unfolds it, and scans the very last line for its sender, his entire body freezing for a second as he stares at the initials at the bottom.
"Blimey," he says.
"What?"
James ignores him. He's begun to read through Evans' letter. It's short and brief, but honestly, James has never been so chuffed to receive a letter in the post before.
His heart feels light.
He feels wide awake.
Sirius throws a pair of socks in his direction, beaning him in the shoulder.
"What is it, then? Did you win something? Is it some hot bird —" He stops abruptly. "Wait." He appears to be putting two and two together. "It's Evans, isn't it? Evans actually sent you a letter!"
"Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"Why the bloody hell not? I was with you, wasn't I, when you spent an hour choosing the right postcard. The least you could do is let me see what she wrote."
"She actually sent me a reply letter, Pads," says James, hopping abruptly out of bed. "We should — we need another postcard."
"What?"
James feels overcome with a Need To Do Something. "Let's go somewhere else today. Some new Muggle place we haven't been."
"The Tower —?"
"— of London!" James finishes, nodding. "Yes. It's brilliant. It's perfectly Muggle. We'd seen pictures of it. And I'm sure there'll be postcards or something there."
"Well, yeah ..."
"Padfoot, we could practice using that Muggle money we got yesterday. You know, with the tiny silver bits."
"Could we take the Tube thing, too? I've been wanting to try it."
"Yeah," says James. He grins. "Yeah, let's do that, too."
It'll give him something to write about.
"And the pub!" James adds. "The one we saw on our way back, yesterday. We ought to try a real Muggle pub."
"Now that is a brilliant idea," says Sirius as James tucks the letter in between his set of Quidditch magazines on the night-stand and moves to get to the door. "But — Prongs? Just a note of advice?"
James turns around. "What?"
"Honestly, mate. While some girls might find your bare legs and pants quite fetching, I reckon you ought to get a proper pair of trousers on, first."
023. summer 1976.
Mar. 10th, 2011 03:50 pmMid-August, 1976 — Morning
The Potter Residence
London, England
It is mid-August and it is finally a little cooler in London than it had been during the maddening heat waves of June and July.
The Potter house is full of teenage boys with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew's arrivals at the beginning of the month, but if Harold and Florence Potter ever had any reservations, they weren't voicing them.
The Marauders, reunited again, spend their days at Diagon Alley or at the Muggle Pub James and Sirius frequented once or twice (or a handful of other times, because Sirius had become quite infatuated with the lady bartender there) sipping Butterbeer or pints of Muggle beer. They go to local Quidditch games, they explore shops, and generally do what Wizard teenagers do when they've got time on their hands.
And then one morning, when James walks into the kitchen — the first one to wake up, starving — there's a letter waiting for him on the table by the Daily Prophet and a jug of chilled orange juice.
He fills a glass and is about to take a sip when Mrs Potter comes into the kitchen, wearing her gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Oh, James, you're up," says Mrs Potter. She smiles. "I don't think your father and I were expecting any of you to stir until noon. An owl left that for you this morning. And your booklists, too, but I've set those aside for later this afternoon. Your dad will go with you to Diagon Alley."
"We could go ourselves," James starts to say (a little distractedly, mind, considering the mysterious letter). He leans forward to take it, turning it over and tearing off the little wax seal.
"Yes," James' mum continues, "you could, physically, but I'd feel much better if your dad went with you. Made sure you all actually picked up what you were supposed to. Not that I don't trust Remus, but you and Sirius really —"
James only half-listens to what his mum is saying.
He's opened the letter and a silver badge has just fallen out onto his open palm. It is shiny and cold against his skin. In the centre, a large 'C' is engraved. 'C' for Captain.
"What's that?" asks his mum.
"You're kidding." He looks up at his mum, a little starry-eyed. "Mum. I was made Quidditch Captain this year."
He starts to grin as the words sink in.
"Mum," he says again, "I'm Quidditch Captain!"
"That's brilliant, dear! Well done." She laughs as James pops over and kisses her cheek.
"Blimey. That's — you know, I really thought it was going to go to Aurelius."
"I haven't any idea who Aurelius is, but I'm sure you were quite deserving of the role, James."
"Quidditch Captain," he says again, shaking his head. "Wait till I tell the others —"
"Tell us what?" Sirius enters, yawning.
James tosses the badge in Sirius' suddenly surprised direction. It's only his quick reflexes that save the badge from flying over his shoulder and beaning Remus in the face. Peter is the only one missing from the group, likely still asleep.
"Holy —"
"Language, Sirius!" James' mum chides.
"Sorry, Mrs Potter." Sirius presses his lips together. "Quidditch Captain, though!"
"Well done, Prongs," says Remus.
"Yeah, well done, mate." Sirius grins. "That means you get to use Remus' special bathroom now — isn't that right?"
Remus laughs, rolling his eyes. "First of all, it isn't my bathroom. And it's really not all that much —"
"Point is," Sirius interrupts, "now that you're Captain, you get to call the shots during the games. You better bloody earn us some victories this year, mate. Last year was rubbish."
James, who has suddenly found himself ruminating upon that very thing, brings himself back to their conversation.
"Your father will be so proud," Mrs Potter says. "He never did get to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, let alone Captain. Oh! Why don't you make a stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies and pick something up. As a celebratory little sending-off."
"Really, mum?"
"How's your old broomstick doing? You could get a new one."
"Still good," James says, "but — blimey. Thanks, mum."
"Don't forget to thank your dad, too."
"Yeah. Of course," James promises, as Sirius passes the silver badge back to him.
"Now, since you're all up, you might as well get some breakfast. I may also need a couple pair of hands to help Dexter with a bit of de-gnoming in the gardens. And since I've got four strong boys staying here this summer ..."
The Potter Residence
London, England
It is mid-August and it is finally a little cooler in London than it had been during the maddening heat waves of June and July.
The Potter house is full of teenage boys with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew's arrivals at the beginning of the month, but if Harold and Florence Potter ever had any reservations, they weren't voicing them.
The Marauders, reunited again, spend their days at Diagon Alley or at the Muggle Pub James and Sirius frequented once or twice (or a handful of other times, because Sirius had become quite infatuated with the lady bartender there) sipping Butterbeer or pints of Muggle beer. They go to local Quidditch games, they explore shops, and generally do what Wizard teenagers do when they've got time on their hands.
And then one morning, when James walks into the kitchen — the first one to wake up, starving — there's a letter waiting for him on the table by the Daily Prophet and a jug of chilled orange juice.
He fills a glass and is about to take a sip when Mrs Potter comes into the kitchen, wearing her gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Oh, James, you're up," says Mrs Potter. She smiles. "I don't think your father and I were expecting any of you to stir until noon. An owl left that for you this morning. And your booklists, too, but I've set those aside for later this afternoon. Your dad will go with you to Diagon Alley."
"We could go ourselves," James starts to say (a little distractedly, mind, considering the mysterious letter). He leans forward to take it, turning it over and tearing off the little wax seal.
"Yes," James' mum continues, "you could, physically, but I'd feel much better if your dad went with you. Made sure you all actually picked up what you were supposed to. Not that I don't trust Remus, but you and Sirius really —"
James only half-listens to what his mum is saying.
He's opened the letter and a silver badge has just fallen out onto his open palm. It is shiny and cold against his skin. In the centre, a large 'C' is engraved. 'C' for Captain.
"What's that?" asks his mum.
"You're kidding." He looks up at his mum, a little starry-eyed. "Mum. I was made Quidditch Captain this year."
He starts to grin as the words sink in.
"Mum," he says again, "I'm Quidditch Captain!"
"That's brilliant, dear! Well done." She laughs as James pops over and kisses her cheek.
"Blimey. That's — you know, I really thought it was going to go to Aurelius."
"I haven't any idea who Aurelius is, but I'm sure you were quite deserving of the role, James."
"Quidditch Captain," he says again, shaking his head. "Wait till I tell the others —"
"Tell us what?" Sirius enters, yawning.
James tosses the badge in Sirius' suddenly surprised direction. It's only his quick reflexes that save the badge from flying over his shoulder and beaning Remus in the face. Peter is the only one missing from the group, likely still asleep.
"Holy —"
"Language, Sirius!" James' mum chides.
"Sorry, Mrs Potter." Sirius presses his lips together. "Quidditch Captain, though!"
"Well done, Prongs," says Remus.
"Yeah, well done, mate." Sirius grins. "That means you get to use Remus' special bathroom now — isn't that right?"
Remus laughs, rolling his eyes. "First of all, it isn't my bathroom. And it's really not all that much —"
"Point is," Sirius interrupts, "now that you're Captain, you get to call the shots during the games. You better bloody earn us some victories this year, mate. Last year was rubbish."
James, who has suddenly found himself ruminating upon that very thing, brings himself back to their conversation.
"Your father will be so proud," Mrs Potter says. "He never did get to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, let alone Captain. Oh! Why don't you make a stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies and pick something up. As a celebratory little sending-off."
"Really, mum?"
"How's your old broomstick doing? You could get a new one."
"Still good," James says, "but — blimey. Thanks, mum."
"Don't forget to thank your dad, too."
"Yeah. Of course," James promises, as Sirius passes the silver badge back to him.
"Now, since you're all up, you might as well get some breakfast. I may also need a couple pair of hands to help Dexter with a bit of de-gnoming in the gardens. And since I've got four strong boys staying here this summer ..."